


Emergency Contacts

by wanheda_two_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, artist!Clarke, police officer!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-04 00:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10978440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanheda_two_heda/pseuds/wanheda_two_heda
Summary: When Bellamy gets a call from Ark Memorial Hospital because he's the emergency contact for an unnamed girl in her early twenties, his only thought is Octavia. He can't imagine that someone might have just entered his phone number by mistake. But when he sees the blonde girl lying unconscious in a hospital bed with no other contacts until she wakes up, something tells him to stay. So he does.Based on the prompt: au where person a accidentally puts the wrong number as their emergency contact and when they end up in hospital person b gets called (and comes anyway, despite not knowing person a)





	1. Part 1 - Bellamy

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot for my girl [@starboybellamy](http://starboybellamy.tumblr.com/), but I have too much creative energy, so enjoy this slow burn instead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**

His phone trilling loudly on his nightstand has him jolting awake. He checks his watch as he reaches for the phone. It’s nearly four in the morning, and no one ever calls him this late, unless it’s Friday night and his sister is at the bar. But it’s not Friday; it’s Wednesday. He doesn’t recognize the number and considers ignoring it, but something in his gut tells him to answer in case it’s important, so he does.

“Hel –” He has to clear his throat because sleep has made him hoarse. “Hello?” he tries again.

“Hello, my name is Maya. I’m terribly sorry to call you this late, but I’m a nurse at Ark Memorial Hospital.”

“Yes?” Bellamy says, if only to force himself to focus through the rushing noise pounding in his ears in time with his heart beat.

“We have an unidentified young woman who’s just been brought in by ambulance,” the nurse – Maya – continues, completely oblivious to how Bellamy now feels cold dread seeping into his bones. “She’s in her early twenties. There was a vehicle accident. We found your number listed on her medical ID on her iPhone as her emergency contact and called you right away. She doesn’t have her real name listed, though. It looks like a nickname.”

Bellamy swears as he runs a hand over his face to ensure himself that he’s not dreaming. He swears again, this time apologizing to the nurse for his language. “How is she? Is she okay?” Bellamy asks.

He’s already out of bed and looking around for a pair of sweat pants.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out much more over the phone, and we don’t know much yet. We’ll have more information for you once you get here.

He struggles with the phone as he pulls a hoodie over his head and slides his feet into flipflops by his front door.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me more?” he asks roughly.

He knows he should cut the nurse some slack, knows that she’s not the one who makes the rules, but this is his baby sister, and he needs to know.

“Again, I’m very sorry, sir,” she apologizes, and she does sound sincerely sorry.

“Shit, okay, I’m on my way. You said Polis General?” Bellamy confirms.

“No, sir, Ark Memorial.”

“Right. Shit. Sorry. Okay, on my way.”

He hangs up the phone without even saying bye, and he doesn’t care. He needs to get to Octavia. The drive, or rather, the race to the hospital is a blur. He’s driving high above the speed limit, and he doesn’t care. Mercifully, he doesn’t get pulled over, and by some miracle, he finds a parking spot near the front of the emergency department. He’s fully awake as he sprints to the doors, pausing only when they pull open – slowly, too slowly – at his approach. The department is relatively quiet, another miracle, even for the middle of the night. He’s panting with both exertion and panic as he reaches the nurse’s station.

“My sister. Where is she?” he gasps.

“Calm down,” a doctor says. “Who are you looking for?”

“My sister. You called me about my sister. Some nurse – Maya – Maya said she was in a car accident.”

“Oh, yes. Okay,” she turns around and calls for Maya.

A short girl with a friendly face and messy black curls down past her shoulders rounds a corner. “Yes, Dr. Tsing?” she asks with the practiced ease of someone who has to pretend to be pleased at the sound of her name shouted that was constantly.

“This is Mr. – ” Dr. Tsing hesitates.

“Blake,” Bellamy supplies. “Bellamy Blake.”

“This is Mr. Blake. He’s our Jane Doe’s brother.”

“You got here quickly,” is what Maya chooses to say.

“How is she? What happened?” Bellamy asks, his voice desperate.

“She’s stable, but she’s not going to be back on her feet for a little while. She might need surgery. We’re monitoring her condition, but she has several fractured ribs. One might be damaging her lung. Her pleural fluid is currently being drained, but we might need to go in to keep the rib from completely puncturing the lung. She also has a broken wrist and a broken femur,” Maya says, and Bellamy’s face drains of color. “She’s badly bruised and cut. She requires surgery to fix her femur, but this will have to wait until her lung is stable. It’ll be months before she can walk properly again.”

He might not be a doctor, but he does know how painful it is the break the strongest bone in your body. And to not be stable enough for surgery – he doesn’t want to think about it. “How did this happen?” he asks, because last he heard, Octavia didn’t even have her driving permit.

“She was walking,” Maya said. “First responders said that the driver of the car that hit her was drunk. He drove up onto the sidewalk.”

Bellamy feels his blood boil, and he clenches his hands into fists at his side. He’s going straight to the precinct when he’s sure that Octavia is okay and demanding that Kane let him see the asshole who thought that it was okay to drive while drinking, especially on a Wednesday night. Shit happens on weekends, but if you’re that drunk on a Wednesday, you need a serious lifestyle change, and Bellamy is happy to provide him with one.

“Can I see her?” he asks as he clenches and unclenches his hands to calm down.

“She’s unconscious at the moment, but you can go in and see her. I’ll show you to her room. I will warn you, though, that she has been seriously injured.”

Bellamy swallows. “I understand,” is all he says.

Maya starts walking down the too-clean hallway, leading him through a set of doors. “Oh,” she says. “Before I forget, here’s her phone.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a white iPhone, which she hands him. His first thought is that Octavia’s phone was black last he’d seen it, and he doesn’t remember her saying that she’d gotten a new one. His second thought as he slides the phone into the pocket of his sweat pants is pure awe at how an iPhone – a phone that shatters if you look at it the wrong way – managed to survive the crash that had so badly injured Octavia.

Maya stops in front of a door at the end of the hall she’d led him down. “If you need anything, just press the call button by her bed.”

“Will you – ” Bellamy hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t know how to ask her to stay while he adjusts to what he’s about to walk into. He doesn’t know how to tell her that after seeing his own mother die, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look at his baby sister lying in a hospital bed. Maya only nods knowingly.

Bellamy takes a breath and pushes the door open. He freezes when he sees her small body, lines sticking out of her and crossing over her body, and blonde hair. The girl lying in the hospital bed has curly blonde hair.

“This isn’t –”

“I know that this can be difficult,” Maya says supportively from behind him.

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how utterly relieved he is to see that blonde hair. She doesn’t know that Octavia has pin-straight _brown_ hair.

“No, this isn’t my sister,” he says, a relieved smile spreading from ear to ear. “This isn’t Octavia.”

Maya checks the room number and the chart in her hands. “I don’t understand. This is the correct room.”

“Yes, but that isn’t my sister,” he says again.

He takes the phone out of his pocket and presses the home button. A beautiful smiling blonde grins back up at him, and for a quick second, he’s caught up in staring at the mole just above her upper lip. She has her arm around an equally stunning Latina. He snaps out of it when the screen goes dark.

“It’s not her phone,” he breathes.

“Yes, but your number is listed as an emergency contact,” Maya says. “So you must know this girl.”

“I don’t,” he says, almost giddy with relief. His sister is okay.

He accesses her Medical ID without even thinking, and sure enough, there’s his number listed as a friend. He looks at her name – _Rebel Princess_ – and comes to the same conclusion as Maya, that it’s a nickname. She’s twenty-four, just a year older than Octavia. There’s no other information listed, no other number he can call. His smiling instantly fades, because the girl lying broken in this hospital bed might not be his sister, but she’s just as young as Octavia, only three years younger than Bellamy himself, and until she wakes up and tells them more, she’s all alone in the world. He takes a few steps into the room, pocketing the cell phone again. There were no messages left unanswered on her lock screen; no one was looking for her yet.

“Sir?” Maya asks.

“I’m going to stay,” he says, because even if he hadn’t known what he was going to answer when he opened his mouth, the words feel right.

“But sir,” she says, clearly shocked. “You just said that you don’t know this girl. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“She’s got no one. It’s half past four in the morning, and no one is missing this girl yet. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

“It’s long past our visiting hours, and those are only for family. Not only that, but it’s also a matter of security. I’m going to have to insist that you leave.”

“Please,” Bellamy says, and he’s not fighting her, but begging her to let him stay. “She’s the same age as my sister. If it was Octavia, and no one could reach me, I wouldn’t want her to wake up in a hospital scared and alone. No one else is coming. She’s got no family to wait with her until she wakes up and tells you who to call. No one’s texted her. You know that no one else is going to be there for her. If someone does show up, I’ll leave; I swear. And if it’s the safety thing,” he takes out his wallet and shows the nurse his ID, “I’m a police officer. I’m already trained in the kind of talks she’s going to need when she wakes up. Please.”

The nurse must see something in his eyes, because she only sighs. “Fine. But as soon as family shows up, you leave,” she says sternly.

She gives the girl another sad glance before she turns away. Maya cares, he realizes. She cares deeply about her patients.

Bellamy walks into the room, leaving the door to the hallway open, and heads to the chair in the far corner by the bed. A heart monitor beeps steadily over the girl’s bed, her rhythm stable. She has a drainage tube coming out of her side, and Bellamy is thankful that her hospital gown covers the incision, because he’s seen enough on the job to know that a protruding _anything_ makes him queasy. An IV feeds saline and pain meds into the inside of her left elbow, and her wrist is already in a cast. He can see the sharp edges of the brace that hold her right leg straight beneath the thin sheet that covers her.

He scans the room quickly and sees a cabinet across the room at the foot of her bed that looks promising. He opens the cabinet doors, and just as he suspected, he finds warmer blankets inside. He takes one to her and covers her lower half. He doesn’t want her to be cold, but also doesn’t want to jostle any of the wires and tubes that cover most of her chest. He goes back to sitting, fidgeting with his hands as he finally calms down, the last of the adrenaline draining from him and leaving him tired.

He takes in the unnamed girl in the bed. Her eyes are closed, and the right side of her face is badly bruised. There’s a cut across her forehead that’s been stitched shut, along with two more near her collarbone. Her blonde hair is a matted mess, and he wants to reach out, to try to fix it for her, but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know how. He runs his hands through his own hair instead before pushing his glasses further up his nose. He wonders who she is, why no family or roommate or friend is worried for her yet, why she was on the street in the middle of the night. He wonders what she does, if she’s still in college or if she’s graduated. He wonders what her voice sounds like, what color her eyes are.

“I’m Bellamy,” he finally says when he can’t stand the silence anymore. “I don’t know why I just introduced myself, because it’s not like you can hear me. Maybe I’m just hoping that you’ll wake up and tell me who you are. Someone out there has got to be worried about you.”

He pulls out her phone and looks at her medical ID again, the only thing he has access to without her password, and chuckles at the name. “Rebel Princess,” he says fondly with a smirk. “I don’t know if I’m hoping more that you’ll tell me your real name, or that your last name is actually Princess and your parents named you Rebel because they thought they were being funny.”

He looks at his watch, and it’s already past five. He should be getting up for work in forty-five minutes. He was going to be exhausted for his shift. He just hopes that Miller will understand, that his partner won’t mention anything to Kane.

“You gave me a hell of a scare this morning, you know that, Princess? The hospital called me, and I thought you were my little sister. I could swear that my heart stopped beating when I got the call. You should wake up so that when we call your family, they won’t be as scared to death as I was. How did my number end up as your emergency contact, anyway?”

He leans back, and her eyelids don’t so much as flutter. He laces his fingers together behind his head, and he lets his head fall back with a sigh. Bellamy doesn’t know what he was hoping for, what he’s still hoping for. He just really wants this girl to wake up. He knows that he’s not responsible for her, but the worrying type, that’s just the type of person he is, and he knows that if he’d turned around and gone home after realizing that she wasn’t Octavia, he would have worried about her outcome for days.

There’s a quiet knock at the door, and he opens his eyes. Maya stands outside the door with a jacket on and a bag slung over her shoulder. There’s a paper cup in her hands.

“Jane Doe still hasn’t woken up?” she asks.

“Nope. I tried talking to her,” he says, and he groans internally at how stupid that sounded, because of course talking isn’t medically going to do anything.

She just smiles at him. “I brought you a coffee. It’s black. I figured you must need it after that adrenaline rush earlier.” She walks into the room and hands it to him.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a sip of the strong coffee.

Maya walks over to the girl and brushes her hair away from her face. “It’s going to be a long road for you,” Maya tells the girl in her quiet soothing voice. “I hope you’re awake when I come back for my shift tonight. Let’s get you feeling better, huh?” she asks with a smile.

The nurse turns to face Bellamy when she reaches the door. “You know, I just finished school a year and a half ago, so I haven’t been on the job long, but I’ve never seen anyone do what you’re doing for this girl.”

“I just wouldn’t want my baby sister to wake up from something like this alone,” he says honestly.

“I think it’s more than that. I think you’re just a really good person, plain and simple.”

He ducks his head with a shy smile. “Thank you.”

He drinks the coffee slowly after Maya leaves, mulling over his options. He needs to go back to his apartment to shower and get ready for work, but every time he tells himself he’s going to leave, he can’t help but think _what if this is the moment she wakes up?_ Every time he tells himself that he has to go, he can’t. He can’t leave because the girl is still unconscious, and _what if she wakes up alone_? At six forty-five, he doesn’t have a choice anymore. He _has_ to leave, or else he’s going to be late for work.

Just as he reaches the threshold, he hears her cough behind him. He turns around to see that the steady rise and fall of her chest has become fast, almost frantic. He sees her heartbeat spike on the monitor before it even starts to beep. She coughs more, making gasping sounds. He runs for the call button, but the stern doctor that greeted him earlier is already in the room, following closely by another nurse.

“What happened?” the doctor barks.

“Nothing,” Bellamy says quickly, because he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows that something is wrong. “Nothing. She was fine, and I was just about to leave when I heard her cough.”

He doesn’t know where to turn, where to look. The nurse has a stethoscope on the girl’s chest.

“No breath sounds,” she tells the doctor. “It’s a pneumothorax.”

“A what?” Bellamy asks, worried for the anonymous girl.

“Her lung’s collapsed. You need to get out,” the doctor orders before she begins shouting orders at two other nurses that have joined them.

He walks out into the hall and paces outside the room, out of the way, as he listens to the commotion inside the room. He pulls out his phone and dials his partner’s number before he even knows what he’s doing. It rings twice before Miller answers, voice rough.

“I need you to tell Kane that I can’t make it in this morning. It’s an emergency,” Bellamy says.

“Are you serious? He’s going to make me ride with Murphy, and you know – wait, are you at the hospital?” Miller asks, because they’ve been friends longer than they’ve been partners.

And it’s for that reason that Bellamy says yes, that he doesn’t even consider lying. “It’s a complicated story, but me and O are fine. Just trust me, Miller. I need to be here.”

“Nah, man, I trust you. Let me know if you want me to drop anything off,” his friend says, all traces of arguments gone.

“Could you swing by my place and grab me a change of clothes? I don’t need it right now, but if you could drop it off on your break or something, I’d owe you big time.”

“Yeah, sure. But you’re buying next time we get drinks.”

“Deal,” Bellamy says, and he hangs up after saying goodbye to his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**
> 
> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)


	2. Part 2 - Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wakes up, alone and afraid at the hospital. Until she realizes that maybe she's not so alone after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the amazing response to the first chapter, guys <3 you're all incredible!
> 
> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**

Everything hurts. Every breath Clarke takes brings a sharp pain that shoots throughout her ribcage. She doesn’t know where she is, and her heart starts to race before she even opens her eyes. She doesn’t know why she can’t move her leg, why trying to makes her want to scream out in pain. She doesn’t recognize the noises around her, the pillow behind her, nor the weight of the blanket that covers her legs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a deep voice says. It’s close to her. She doesn’t recognize the voice, either.

She puts all of her strength into trying to open her eyes, and when she manages a crack, she screws them back shut, fighting against the glare of the harsh lights above her. The movement has her hissing in pain as each muscle on her face feels too tight.

Footsteps, and then, “Nurse! She’s waking up!” It’s the same gruff voice.

More footsteps, and Clarke knows without opening her eyes that there are two more people in the room. They’re all around her. She wants to fight them off and run away, but she can’t remember how to command her body to move, so doesn’t understand how some parts of her _can’t_ move.

“It’s okay, honey,” a soft female voice says to her right. “You’re going to feel better any second now. Can you open your eyes? Can you tell us your name?”

So many questions, so demanding. Clarke focuses on one word: eyes. She has to open her eyes. With all the strength she can muster, she forces her eyes open, forces herself to adjust to the blinding light above her. There’s a person standing at the foot of her bed, and they block out some of the light. It’s easier now for Clarke to blink away the burning tears as she takes in her surroundings. More things come into focus as she looks around the room. She’s in a hospital. Two nurses are in the room. One is on her right side – the one who spoke, she guesses – has curly dark hair and an easy grin that covers the lower half of her face. She’s wearing lilac scrubs. _Maya_ , the nametag says.

“Welcome back,” she says.

“Where am I?” Clarke asks, her voice rough and hoarse.

“Arkadia Memorial Hospital,” the nurse says. “You were in an accident, sweetie. The doctor will come in shortly and talk you through what happened.”

Clarke’s eyes shoot around the room. An accident. She was in an accident. Her left wrist was in a cast. Something was holding her ribs tight. It hurt just above her eyebrow whenever she blinked. What happened? She’d been at the studio… She was staying late to get her portfolio together… Her Uber home was late…

The other nurse is wearing blue. Clarke can’t see her nametag. She switching out one of the empty bags on her IV drip pole for a new, full one. Her leg is in so much pain that she wants to cry. There’s no one else in the room. Just the two nurses and the man with the gruff voice. How long has she been out for? Did they not find her phone? Maybe Raven just hasn’t had the time to get here yet.

“How long…” she tries.

“You were unconscious for about a day and a half,” Maya says. Her voice is calming.

“Raven…” she tries before scanning the room for the girl that should be with her.

Had Raven just not come? Maybe with the baby now, she was too busy, or she couldn’t find a sitter… Her friend couldn’t afford to fly down every time Clarke landed herself in the hospital… She’d still hoped. She’s alone. She watches the man at the foot of the bed as his eyes light up. He’s handsome, she thinks, because she might be freaking out and immobile in a hospital bed, but she deserves one good thing. His shoulders are broad and his chest muscular. He has stubble beginning to grow along his jaw and around his mouth. He looks tired. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. His outfit, when paired with his thick framed rectangle glasses and too long ink dark curls, makes her heart beat just that much faster. She has the decency to turn red when everyone pauses to look up at the monitor.

“Is that your name?” the nurse asks. “Raven?”

“No,” Clarke says, and she wants to shake her head but it hurts too much to move.

“That’s okay. Take your time. Can you tell us your name?” Maya asks.

“Clarke,” she says. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Well, Clarke, you’ve had quite the last few days,” a tall Asian woman says as she walks into the room. “I’m Dr. Tsing. I’ve been overseeing your care.”

The woman – Dr. Tsing – walks Clarke through what happened to her: the accident, her injuries, the surgery she’ll need on her leg, and her recovery time. Clarke wishes she wasn’t alone to take it all in. The barrage of information is overwhelming, and the pain is getting to her head.

“We’ll let you rest,” the doctor finally says. “Press the call button if you need anything.”

And with that, the doctor and the two nurses leave the room. But the messy-haired man doesn’t. He just stands at the foot of her bed, looking at her with wide eyes. She’s certain that she doesn’t know him – she would remember a face like his. The freckles do funny things to her insides that have nothing to do with the accident she was in. But despite not knowing him, he stays, looking down on her like he can’t believe that she’s awake.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, her voice finally starting to sound normal. “Do I know you?”

The man blinks a few times, standing back from the foot of the bed as if something has just dawned on him, and he doesn’t know how to respond. He runs a hand through his messy hair, and Clarke wonders what it would feel like if she was the one to do that.

“Oh – uh – yeah, uh, I’m Bellamy,” he says, coming around to the chair beside the bed. There’s a spring jacket slung over the back, a book on the table by her bed. He’s been here a while if the stubble and his comfortable ease are anything to go by.

“Is this like that Channing Tatum movie where you tell me that you’re my husband, and I don’t remember you? Because if it is, I’m not complaining,” she says, because it’s all she can think to say.

He laughs. It’s a full, deep, happy sound. It makes her smile, knowing that she can draw that sound from him. “If we are married,” he says. “I’m a terrible husband for not remembering you, either.”

“I don’t know you,” she says, and it sounds kind of like a question.

What if she does know him after all, and she just can’t remember?

“No, you don’t,” he says, his hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing nervously.

“Okay, well, now that we’ve got that cleared up, can I ask who you are?”

He chuckles shyly. “You had my number down in your phone as your emergency contact,” he explains. “The hospital called me when they found your phone, and I thought you were my little sister. It was four in the morning, and I just raced here as fast as I could – ”

“Wait, someone called you to say that Clarke Griffin was in an accident, and you just thought, _Oh, shit, what if I’m related to her_?”

He laughs again. “No, uh, the name you had in your phone was Rebel Princess, and they assumed it was a nickname, so they told me it was a girl in her early twenties,” he explains as he hands her the cellphone she hadn’t even thought to look for.

There are a few notifications on her lock screen, but she wants to know why this man is still sitting in her room hours – days – after finding out that she’s not, in fact, his little sister.

“Okay, so that explains why you came, but why are you still here?” she asks, merely curious.

“I was the only emergency contact listed. If I left, then no one would have known that you were here, and no one would have been here when you woke up. I just thought about my little sister, and about how I wouldn’t want her to be all alone waking up from something like this.”

“But you’re not my emergency contact. My friend Raven is,” Clarke says, because the phone might be new, but she’s certain that she copied Raven’s number down properly before leaving the house. She hadn’t had time to transfer the back up of her old phone onto her new one.

“No,” Bellamy says. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got my number down.”

“I don’t think so, because we’ve already established that I don’t know you,” she says as she calls the number listed because she’s stubborn like that.

He just smirks at her and pulls out his phone when it starts to ring.

“See?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

Clarke gives him a small smile for the win. “I’m sorry. I’ll change it as soon as I get the right number. Hopefully before I get into an accident. You were really kind for staying. You really didn’t have to,” she says, and she smiles at this stranger’s kindness. Maybe there still are good people in the world.

“I get that – this is weird. I should just go,” he says, moving to stand.

She reaches out to place her hand on top of his where it rests on the bed rail before she can even think about what she’s doing. She winces and sucks in a breath at the sharp pain in her ribs.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“Fine,” she grits through her teeth. Her hand still covers his after she’s taken a few breaths to dispel the pain. “You can – you probably have things to do – sorry, yeah, maybe – ”

Her babbling is interrupted by a quick knock at the door. A police officer comes in carrying two coffees, and the first thing Clarke notices is how friendly his eyes look. The second is that they immediately snap to her hand on Bellamy’s, and Clarke let’s her hand drop as the dark-skinned police officer looks on with a smirk in Bellamy’s direction.

“Look who’s awake,” he says with a smile as he approaches Bellamy and hands him one of the two coffees. The officer perches easily on the arm of Bellamy’s chair. “You’ll be happy to hear that the guy who hit you is not going to get off easy on this one.”

It takes Clarke a moment to understand that this is the officer who must have arrested the driver responsible for putting her here.

“This is Clarke,” Bellamy introduces.

“Ah, so our mystery girl finally has a name,” he says with a smile, scratching his close-cropped beard.

“Clarke, this is my partner, Nathan Miller,” Bellamy says, gesturing between them.

“Oh!” Clarke says, wondering why she didn’t see it sooner. “You’re gay.”

“No!” Bellamy says too quickly at the same time as the police officer barks out a laugh that has him throwing his head back.

Clarke feels like she’s on the outside of a joke between the pair. Bellamy is glaring at the cop.

“Miller is,” he says easily. “But we’re partners at work.”

“Blake here’s a cop,” the other man says, clapping Bellamy on the back.

“That explains the good Samaritan nature, then,” Clarke says.

“Nah,” Miller laughs. “This guy is just a helicopter mom waiting to happen.”

“Jackass,” Bellamy grumbles, pushing Miller away.

Clarke smiles at the easy camaraderie between the two.

“I should get going. I just came by on my way home to drop off the coffee after shift and to tell you that Kane gave you tomorrow off, too.”

“Thanks, Miller,” Bellamy says.

“Nice to meet you, Clarke,” Miller says as he leaves the room.

Bellamy huffs out a sigh. “Sorry about him; he’s an asshole,” Bellamy says.

“It’s okay. I have a friend like that back home. I totally understand,” Clarke says.

“Where are you from?”

“Montana, but I needed to get away from… I just needed to start over. I moved to Ark a few weeks ago.”

“So that explains why no one’s waiting for you to come home just yet,” he says, understanding her need for him not to question her motives.

“Yeah. My friend Raven is back home in Montana; she’s the one who would have told everyone else. I don’t have a roommate here or anything yet, so no one to notice that anything is wrong.”

“Is there anyone I can call?” he offers. “Your mom maybe?”

“No!” Clarke says too quickly, too loudly. But he doesn’t ask. “No thank you.”

“There’s no one at all?” he asks, and Clarke could swear that he sounds sad.

“No, it’s just me. I’ll give Raven a call a little later and tell her what happened, but no one to rush to my bedside,” she says, trying to be light.

He frowns. “I can stay,” he offers. “You heard Miller; my sergeant gave me tomorrow off.”

“No, I don’t want to burden you. You’ve already been so kind to me. I’m sure that you have things that you need to do. I can’t ask you to stay.”

“You’re not asking me to. I offered,” he says smugly, thinking he’s so sly.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a while. Go home, Bellamy,” she says softly. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. I’ll be here at least until they can operate on my leg. You know where to find me. But at least go get some sleep.”

“Are you sure that you’ll be okay?”

Helicopter mom, indeed.

“Yes. I promise. I’ll be fine. Go home, and I’ll call my friend. You can come back in the morning if you’re set on it.”

He looks relieved at the invitation to come back.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Call me if you need anything. You’re not alone in this city anymore. You’ve got my number,” he says.

“Do I?” she asks, confused, because she doesn’t remember him giving it to her.

“Well, I am your emergency contact, after all,” he says with a smile before wishing her good night and leaving the room.

She looks down at the phone in her hands with a small smile as she bites her lip, because maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe she’s not alone in Ark anymore. It would be nice to finally have somewhere where she belongs.

With a smile, she saves his number, the first in her new phone, and that night, as she drifts off to sleep, pain still thrumming through her body like a live wire, his low voice is the last thing she hears as he says her name fondly, trying it out, trying to learn the feel the way it rolls off his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fellow iPhone users, make sure you set up your medical ID to display all of your important medical information on the 'emergency call' page of your lock screen, _ESPECIALLY IF YOU KNOW YOUR BLOOD TYPE AND ARE AN ORGAN DONOR!_ You can access it through your _Health_ app to update all your info. It could save your life!**
> 
> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**
> 
> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)


	3. Part 3 - Bellamy & Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known that a Clarke Griffin in need will always attract a Bellamy Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**

The first thing he plans to do when he gets home is take a shower. Even if Miller had brought him a change of clothes earlier in the day, he still feels like he’s wearing to weight of the roller coaster of emotions that he went through. He scrubs a hand along his jaw. He needs to shave, too. As he’s walking into his room and shrugging off his shirt, he thinks that he should call Kane. He needs to explain what happened. He needs to tell his sergeant what happened and that he doesn’t need another day off.

But as he sits on the edge of his bed and looks at his phone, it’s not Kane that he finds himself calling. His heart aches for a familiar voice that he was so sure he’d lost the night before. When Octavia answers after the third ring, his shoulders sag with relief. He’s so happy that she’s okay.

He tells his sister everything that happened from the phone call to the rush to the hospital to learning that this girl – Clarke – wasn’t Octavia at all, and that Octavia was safe, home in bed. He tells her he loves her, that he doesn’t ever want to feel that fear again, that she needs to make sure to take care of herself so that he never has to get another phone call like that in his life. He tells her how he stayed, how he wanted to be there when Clarke woke up, about how she had no one to be there with her.

“So what about now?” Octavia asks.

“What do you mean?” he questions as he gets his razor out.

“When you left the hospital, who came to stay with her?”

He pauses. “No one,” he says finally. “She’s new in town. There was no one to come see her.”

“Shit,” Octavia says quietly, drawing out the word. “That really sucks. I can’t even imagine. I think I’d go crazy spending that much time alone in a hospital. Plus, she’s got like no one to bring her anything from home or anything, so she’s stuck wearing those stupid hospital gowns until she’s discharged. And then afterwards? Bell, she’s gonna be hopping around the city on a broken femur for months,” his sister says sadly.

Bellamy looks at himself in the mirror, running a hand over his face, and his mind is made up before he even really has to think about it. He’s not letting her face this alone. He wants to be there for her. She’s going to need a friend, and maybe the hospital calling him was the strangest way for them to start a friendship, but maybe it just might work.

“Do you think it would be awkward if I went to see her?” Octavia asks, pulling him from his thoughts. “I mean, I don’t want to just walk in and be like _hey you seem lonely. Let’s chat._ But I know that after Mom died, all those people that we barely knew that were there to help us really made a difference for me.”

“Do you want to go together? Kane gave me the day off tomorrow,” Bellamy offers. _Yes_ , he thinks, _this is the right thing to do_.

* * *

 

“What’s she like?” Octavia asks him when they’re in the car the next day.

“I don’t really know her,” he says, in part because it’s the truth, but also in part because he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the Rebel Princess since she woke up and told him that she wouldn’t mind being married to him. _She’s gorgeous, and her laugh makes my head spin_ , isn’t the type of thing you tell your little sister right off the bat. Octavia would think that he had an ulterior motive for going to the hospital. He doesn’t mind that the girl he met by happenstance is his type of girl, but he’s the type of person that would keep going back no matter who was in that hospital bed if they were alone.

“You’re blushing,” Octavia remarks.

“Shut up, O,” he grumbles.

“Bring her a coffee or something. Let’s stop at Starbucks. She’s probably already sick of hospital food. I know I would be.”

He takes his sister’s advice and stops by a coffee shop just down the street from the hospital, and Bellamy trusts his sister to pick food out of the display case for the three of them. He orders them coffee, decaffeinated for Clarke because he doesn’t know if she can have caffeine with the medications she’s taking, and they drive the last minute to the hospital in companionable silence.

Clarke’s face lights up when she sees the coffee he offers her, and she drinks it like she’s never tasted anything quite so wonderful in her life. She’s been moved up to the ICU, and now that’s she has her own room, the three of them can talk without having to worry about waking anyone up. Clarke and his sister get along like they’ve known each other their entire lives. Bellamy watches them interact and adds to the ridiculously small list of things he knows about this mysterious girl.

She grew up in Montana and spent her entire life there up until she left for college. She studied medicine at Brown before deciding that it wasn’t a future that she wanted. She then went on to study liberal arts. She moved to Arkadia because she heard that there was a junior curator position opening up at the Ark National Art Museum. She’d found a nice apartment that was well under budget, so she’d managed to rent out a small studio to keep working on her own art. It’s where she’d been walking home from on the night of the accident.

Clarke’s best friend is a girl named Raven Reyes – the Latina girl that Bellamy had seen in the picture on her phone. She also talks about Raven’s husband and their child, a small group of friends that she left behind when she moved. She never talks about her parents or her family. The more she talks, and the more he learns about her, the more he realizes how well she would fit in with his friends, how well she would fit with him.

When they leave the hospital later that evening, Octavia makes a ridiculous comment about him always falling for the damsel in distress. He shoves her away as they’re walking, and she laughs. He doesn’t want to think about how easy it is to like Clarke Griffin, or how it’s only been a few days, or how the thought of her fills his chest with warmth.

* * *

 

After that first day, it’s easier to go back. He’ll stop by in the mornings on his way to the precinct to drop off coffee for her because she says that the stuff they give her is always cold and too bitter. As he learns her favorites, he gets more comfortable with bringing her food, and she’s always so thankful.

On some mornings, she’ll be awake and he’ll have enough time to stay so he’ll sit and have breakfast with her. They’ll chat and she’ll show him sketches she’s been working on of the nurses or the view outside her window. She tells him that she can do so much more when she has something other than printer paper and a #2 pencil, but it passes the time.

On the mornings when he’s running late, he’ll bring up her coffee looking flustered and harried, and she’ll know that he’s in a rush almost before he comes into the room. He’s taken to giving her a quick kiss on the forehead if only so that she knows that it’s got nothing to do with her. The first time he did it, it took them both by surprise, and he’d stuttered out an apology before turning and leaving. Now, she stretches up with a self-satisfied grin as she waits for the barely-there press of his lips against her skin before she wishes him a good day and tells him to be safe because she doesn’t want to share her room.

In the evenings, he’ll come by after his shift while she’s eating dinner to tell her about his day, or he’ll bring a board game to play after he’s gone home to shower and eat. She kicks his ass at Scrabble every time they play, but it’s still his favorite. Her smile as she places down another tile makes it all worth it.

Octavia visits her, too, though his schedule clashes with his sister’s, so they never cross paths. Octavia will bring her new friend clothes so that Clarke isn’t stuck in hospital gowns, and Clarke will tell him how many nurses it took to get her changed on a particular day. It feels like his sister is taunting him on the days that she comes in to do Clarke’s hair or her make up. As the bruises and cuts heal, and the stitches come out, he only realizes more exactly how beautiful the blonde really is.

Eventually, it feels like Clarke is a staple in his life. As her lungs stabilize and get better, she ingrains herself into his routine, into every part of his day. Before he knows it, he can’t remember what he did with all his free time before he met Clarke. If he’s not at work or sleeping, he’s with her. She’s fun, and genuine, and she makes him laugh in a way that no one else ever has. He’s not only thankful that it was never his sister in this hospital bed, but also thankful that even if what happened to Clarke was awful, he got to meet her.

On the last day of the third week, he decides that he’s going to bring her flowers with her coffee before work. He walks around the florist’s shop three times, not having a single clue what to get before he finally relents and asks for help. He doesn’t want tacky flowers that say _I’m sorry you got hit by a car; get well soon_. He wants flowers that say _I’m sorry you got hit by a car, but when I see you my heart does this summersault, and I don’t understand it, but I want you to get better so I can figure it out_. He stresses about what he’s going to say the entire elevator ride up to the ICU, but when he turns the corner into her room, it’s empty.

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Part 3 - Clarke**

 

Clarke is starting to regret sending Bellamy home the next morning. She’d fallen asleep early to make the time pass faster, and as the morning stretched on, the minutes seemed to tick by slower and slower. People walked up and down the ICU halls: nurses, doctors, and visiting family members alike. Shortly before eleven that morning, just after Clarke had been left disappointed when she’d remembered that she couldn’t just get up and go for a walk, a small brunette waltzed into her room. She was just opening her mouth to ask if maybe the girl had gotten the wrong room when a familiar head of dark curls followed in after her. Bellamy. He smiled at Clarke, and Clarke felt her insides warm. The man’s smile could end wars.

He hands her a coffee, and she’s drinking it before she can even say thank you. It’s the best coffee she’s ever tasted, and it has everything to do with the fact the Clarke is a major coffee addict and the stuff they give her once a day in the ICU tastes like garbage, not to mention that she can finish the cup in one drink. This coffee is like heaven.

The younger girl’s name is Octavia, and Clarke learns that she’s Bellamy’s little sister. She’s curious and full of life and bubbling over with joy. She keeps Clarke easily entertained as she asks question after question about Clarke’s life. Clarke answers them all truthfully but avoids any mentions of her own family. Octavia doesn’t mention any parents, either. But it’s Bellamy that Clarke keeps looking to. He’s looking at Clarke and his sister fondly, and they share a smile like they’re in their own little world.

* * *

 

Bellamy’s visits become a regular thing, and she looks forward to them. She passes the time while he’s at work drawing and playing games on her phone. One of the nurses brought her a phone charger, and the WiFi is free, so she can FaceTime Raven when she gets too lonely. Her friend is all too eager to hear about the tousled-hair, freckled man who comes by to see her every day, and the thought only has Clarke grinning like a school girl. She’d known the same men her entire life in her small Montana town, and it’s not like she was meeting to many more here in Arkadia, seeing as she couldn’t leave the hospital.

He brings her a coffee every morning, and it’s enough to significantly brighten her day. The mornings are her favorite, because he’s always in his uniform, unless it’s a weekend. Bellamy Blake is attractive on any given day, but when he’s in uniform, Clarke is thankful that her leg keeps her in bed and not in his lap. Their conversations are easy, light, and constantly flowing. It’s like she’s known him her entire life. He’s caring and intuitive and challenges her in the best way.

The first morning that he’s in a rush and can’t stay to chat, he puts her coffee down on her bedside table and leans forward to press a quick kiss to her forehead before either of them registers what’s happening. When he pulls away, his face is bright red and he’s stuttering as he tries to apologize and tell her it’s a habit with Octavia. She gives a shy chuckle and sends him on his way before he’s late.

The next morning, he’s about to leave when she gathers up the courage to ask, “Where’s my kiss?”

He shakes his head with a fond smile when she closes her eyes and stretches up as best as she can, sporting a goofy grin, nonetheless. He leans down to press a soft kiss to the crown of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair and sending shivers down her spine before telling her to have a good day.

Octavia visits during the day when her work schedule allows it, and she’s always got something new with her. On her first visit, Octavia brings her a sketchpad after noticing all of Clarke’s loose sketches around the room. Octavia picks one up and raises an eyebrow at her. Clarke flushes when she realizes that it’s a picture of Bellamy.

After that, Octavia comes by with new pajamas she insists don’t fit her. She does Clarke’s hair and makeup since it’s not currently a luxury that Clarke can afford, given her inability to walk to a mirror. Octavia gossips about the women she works with, about her new trainer at the gym, and man the younger woman insists is drool-worthy. She complains about the trainer’s age, and how he’s the same age as Bellamy. Octavia tells Clarke that Bellamy would be too protective to let them date, lets it slip that maybe Bellamy’s just been single for too long and that she could be happy if her brother would just find someone else to focus on for a little while.

The thought makes Clarke hopeful.

* * *

 

After three weeks in the hospital, the news that Clarke is stable enough to undergo surgery to repair her femur finally comes. She’s excited that she’ll finally be able to head home soon, and she’s just about to ask the nurse what time she’s booked in for so that she can tell Bellamy all about how her hospital stay is almost over when they start getting her ready to transport right away. The nurse tells her that they can’t wait any longer to set the bones or else the surgery could become even more complicated. She’s wheeled out of the room before she can even ask to be able to send a text.

Waking up after surgery is hard and painful. Clarke has to swim through a thick haze of fog to find control of her own mind again and be able to open her eyes. The first thing to come into focus is the vase on her nightstand. _What that there before? I don’t think it was._ It’s predominately roses. _It’s beautiful_.

“Flowers?” she manages to mumble.

A familiar face appears in her line of sight. “Bellamy was here,” Maya says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**
> 
> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)


	4. Part 4 - Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Physiotherapy might not be Clarke's thing, but with the right motivation, anything is possible, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic has been absolutely phenomenal and I could not be happier! I'm glad you guys like it, and get ready to wrap it all up in the next chapter!
> 
> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**

**8 Weeks Post-Accident/7 Weeks Post-Op**

 

Clarke groans as she has to lean forward, bending at the waist, to grab the phone she’d forgotten on the coffee table. She can’t wait for the cast to finally be off in a week. It’ll be nice to finally be able to move again. They doctor keeps reminding her about all the physiotherapy she’ll have to do to get her muscles strong enough to walk on again, but Clarke can only think about how wonderful it’s going to be just to be able to bend her knee again. Only bending at the waist and doing awkward one-legged squats has its benefits – her ass looks great and her abs are getting pretty toned – but her movement is still limited. She checks the message on the screen.

 

 **[Bellamy Blake]       7:51 PM**  
Chocolate or vanilla?

 **[Clarke Griffin]        7:52 PM**  
You’re so boring  
What happened to people who like peanut butter half-baked?

 **[Bellamy Blake]       7:53 PM**  
So you want peanut butter half-baked then?

 **[Clarke Griffin]        7:53 PM**  
Yes, please!  
When are you getting here?

 **[Bellamy Blake]       7:55 PM**  
Just paid for the ice cream and I am a block and a half away  
You realize you saw me last night, right?

 **[Clarke Griffin]        7:55 PM**  
Yeah, but you’re like my best friend in all of Ark  
I get the best friend privilege of wanting to see you all the time

 **[Bellamy Blake]       7:56 PM**  
Just all of Arkadia?  
Wow, okay, my feelings are hurt now  
I think I’m gonna go home and cry into this pint of Ben  & Jerry’s instead

 **[Clarke Griffin]        7:56 PM**  
YOU KNOW RAVEN WOULD MURDER ME IF I PUT YOU ABOVE HER  
PLEASE DON’T HATE ME  
I’M SORRY

 

Clarke didn’t get an answer, but less than two minutes later, a set of keys jingled outside of her apartment door, and she looked up with a smile on her face as Bellamy walked in, white plastic bag in hand and hair wind-blown. His smile widened as he took her in.

She’d gotten the hang of doing basic things as the weeks went on, and tonight, she’d been able to shower, braid her hair, and change into her pajamas without so much as one slip or fall. It was a new record. She still had to hop around to do most things, and by the end of the day, both the good leg and the bad aches, so she’s thankful for Bellamy and his insistence that he help with everything.

“How was your day?” he asks, brushing a kiss to her forehead as he walks by her on his way to her kitchen.

Her heart warms as Bellamy makes himself at home in her apartment. She doesn’t really remember a time when this place has been hers alone. She’d only just moved in when her accident happened, and ever since then, Bellamy had been a daily part of her life. He basically lives at her apartment and goes home to shower and sleep. Even then, some mornings she’ll wake to find that he’d fallen asleep on her couch after helping her hobble to bed. She gave him a key after the first week when she’d fallen trying to get to the door, and she hasn’t looked back since. He really is her best friend, and her life has been incredible since she woke up in that hospital bed, femoral fracture and all, to find him looking at her uncertainly.

“It was good,” she says as she hears him rummaging through her cutlery drawer. “Seven more days, Bell!”

“Seven more days until what again? I don’t think you’ve told me what it is you’re counting down to.”

“Shut up,” she grumbles as he drops down onto the couch next to her, picking up her good leg and her heavy boot and draping them over his lap.

“You realize that you’ve spent two months jacking up one leg, right? They’re going to take this cast off,” he says, patting her boot affectionately, “and you’re going to have one incredible leg and one teeny tiny one.”

“You sure know how bum a girl out,” she says, reaching over to the coffee table to grab her pint of ice cream.

“Hey,” he says, pinching behind the knee of her good leg. “I can’t wait for this thing to come off. We’re gonna have to celebrate.”

She pops a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “And by celebrate you mean that you’ll finally get a good night’s sleep because you won’t be up all night worrying about me?” she asks around the brain freeze.

“I don’t _just_ worry about you,” he says, a flush creeping up his neck.

* * *

 

 

**9 Weeks Post-Accident/8 Weeks Post-Op**

 

“Bellamy, come on! I don’t wanna be late!” Clarke says, exasperated.

He’s been driving her crazy for hours on end every possible way he knows how, and Clarke knows that she’s probably letting herself get easily annoyed, but it’s been over two months since she’s been immobile in one way or another, and six and a half weeks at home having to shower sitting on the bottom of her bathtub is about all that she can take. She wants this cast _off_.

“Come on, Clarke,” he says as he walks past her into the hall. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon. What are you waiting for?”

She groans and rolls her eyes but hobbles after him down to his car parked outside the lobby doors. The only perk this broken femur thing has – besides Bellamy himself – is her new, albeit temporary, handicapped parking pass.

“You ready?” he asks, finally serious once they’re in the car. He meets her eyes and covers her hand with his.

“I think so,” Clarke says hesitantly. “A little scared?”

“Why scared?” he asks, glancing at her quickly while he starts down the road.

“What if they tell me it’s not healing as fast as it should?”

He squeezes her hand. “It’ll be fine. Want me to come in with you?”

She looks over at him, eyes a little wider than normal as she considers how she’d take it if they told her it would take her longer to heal. “Would you?”

“Absolutely,” he assures her.

* * *

 

 

**10 Weeks Post-Accident/9 Weeks Post-Op**

“Clarke, come on,” Raven all but snaps. “I love you, you know I do, but I’m not going to coddle you. My leg is shot. It’s never going to get better, but yours is. I learned to walk again. I sucked it up, and I pushed through when it got hard, and sometimes it sucks, but you’ve gotta push yourself.”

Clarke drops down onto the edge of her couch, tears in her eyes. “I know. _I know._ I just thought that once they said I could walk again that it wouldn’t take this long. I mean, logically, I should have known that it wouldn’t be _easy_ , but I didn’t think it was going to be this hard.”

Out of frustration, Clarke pushes her crutches away, letting them fall to the floor with a satisfying clatter, but even that can’t make her smile. She kicks them – with her good leg – for good measure. Her armpits ache, she’s got bruises that she’s sure will never go away, and she just wants to _walk._ She wants to get up, walk to her room, and pick out something to wear without being in pain or stumbling and falling down.

The front door opens, and Bellamy walks in, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. He walks over to where they’re sitting and perches on the arm of the couch.

“Rough work out?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Does he ever knock?” Raven asks Clarke despite smirking right at Bellamy.

Bellamy holds out his keychain. “Don’t need to knock when you have a key,” he says, matching her smirk and raising an eyebrow.

“You gave him a key?” Raven asks, turning her eyes to Clarke. “What the hell? Even I don’t have a key!”

“You live three states away. Why do you need a key?” Clarke asks.

“Well – I just – It’s just – ” Raven sputters. “I just need one on principle.”

“Okay, so I’ll get you a key that you’ll never use just on principle,” Clarke concedes.

“Good. Because I _am_ her best friend,” she says in Bellamy’s direction.

Bellamy’s hand slides from Clarkes shoulder down to where he can brush his fingertips over her ribs. The sensation makes her shiver and tuck herself further against him. “Maybe,” Bellamy says to Raven. “But I’m pretty sure she likes me more.”

Clarke feels her face heat up and her heart summersault. “So what are we doing for dinner?” she asks her friends, needing to change the subject. “It’s Raven’s last night in town.”

“What about the Italian place on South that serves that _panna cotta_ you love?” Bellamy asks Clarke.

“Since when do you eat _panna cotta_?” Raven asks, eyebrows raised.

“We tried it a few weeks ago,” Clarke says, looking up at Bellamy with a smile at the memory. “It’s incredible. Nothing like what they try to pass off as Italian in Montana.”

“Okay, then,” Raven says, looking at the pair with a glint in her eye. Italian sounds great to me. I need to carb load anyway if I’m going back to chasing after my little monkey tomorrow.”

* * *

 

 

**11 Weeks Post-Accident/10 Weeks Post-Op**

 

“Clarke, I know you’re tired, and I know it hurts, but I promise that you’re making progress,” her physiotherapist says. His name is Lincoln, and he’s a giant tree of a man with dark skin and swirling tribal tattoos. Octavia’s been trying to find a way to come to a physio appointment with Clarke just to meet him.

“It doesn’t feel like I’m making any!” she whines, because Bellamy had to step out when his phone rang, and he’s not here to see her wallow in defeat.

Lincoln comes in front of her and squats into a crouch to meet her eyes. “Look at me,” he says gently, and Clarke looks up. “You broke your femur, Clarke. I know you know what that means, but I don’t think you realize what exactly that represents. You took the strongest bone in your body and snapped it in half. And then a week later, these doctors cut you open, stuck a bunch of screws in there, and sewed you back up. Do you realize how much has been done to this bone that’s one of the only reasons you can walk? Not to mention that you spent two months not moving your leg at all. Your muscles are atrophied. Even without any damage to your femur at all, we’d have to retrain your muscles all together for you to be able to walk again.

“Right now – today – the odds are stacked against you. Your fracture is still freshly healed, and your muscles aren’t very strong, but for you to be able to take three, two, even just one step, even if you need to hold on to the bar to support yourself, that’s incredible, Clarke. That’s incredible progress. I never told you that this was going to be easy, but I know that you’re going to be able to get through this,” he says and stands to offer her his hand, pulling her to her feet just as Bellamy walks in.

“Everything good?” he asks, walking towards his chair.

“Actually, would you mind helping us?” Lincoln asks, and Bellamy looks surprised, but walks onto the soft mats in the middle of the room.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks.

“Can you stand at the other end of the bars?” Lincoln instructs. “I want Clarke to walk to you.”

Clarke gets back into her starting position between the support bars, bracing her hands against them for balance as she begins to put weight on her foot. Bellamy gives her a smile and nods, urging her forward with outstretched arms.

“Come on, Princess,” he prompts.

She gives a shaky laugh as she begins stepping forward. She’s wobbly, but her balance remains as she focuses on Bellamy and the ten feet she needs to walk to get to him. His smile grows as she comes closer and closer.

“You’re doing great, Clarke,” he says, and she can see that he’s struggling, too, because he wants to come forward to help her. “Just a few more steps.”

She pauses when she’s three steps away from Bellamy.

“Everything okay, Clarke?” Lincoln asks.

“Yeah,” Clarke says through her teeth, fighting hard to find the strength to uncurl her fingers from around the bars.

She lifts her hands, just the slightest inch, just to say that she’s not touching the bars, and takes one step forward. Her leg drags a little, but she doesn’t stumble, and she doesn’t fall. One more step, and she’s shaky but still standing. She commands her leg to lift for the third and final step, but the order doesn’t get from her brain to her foot, and she trips over her toes. But before she can fall, Bellamy is there, his hands on her hips, and she’s got hers around his shoulders.

“You did it, Princess,” he says into her ear, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head. “I knew you could do it.”

* * *

 

 

**13 Weeks Post-Accident/12 Weeks Post-Op**

 

Bellamy is in the kitchen making dinner for them, and Clarke is flipping through her Netflix queue trying to find something for them to watch while they eat. They’d gone through nearly everything in the eleven weeks since they’d discharged her from the hospital after her surgery, and it was getting harder and harder to find interesting shows.

She’d had such a great session at her physiotherapy appointment that afternoon. She’d been so close to walking unassisted, she could feel that her muscles were ready and her leg was healed, and she realizes as she’s sitting on the couch that she just needs to trust in her own ability and in her body’s strength, and get what she wants.

She braces her hands down on the edge of the sofa and pushes herself into a standing position. She tests her legs out, puts a bit of pressure down on her bad leg to see if it’ll buckle. When it doesn’t, she takes a step. The second on comes a little easier. As does the one after that. It’s a short walk to her kitchen, but she’s quiet, and Bellamy is so focused that he doesn’t even see her come in until she leans against the counter next to him.

“So,” she asks, “what are we having for dinner, Officer Blake?”

“Clarke,” he startles. “Holy shit. Did you – you walked!” His grin makes him look young and adorable. “What – Are you – Is everything – ”

“I’m okay,” she says with a reassuring hand to his chest. “I walked.” Her grin now matches his.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, making to move away, but her hand fists slightly into the fabric of his Henley.

“No. No, I just wanted to see you,” she says.

“I’m here everyday,” he says with a shy smile. “There’s not much different to see.”

Her hand is still against his chest. “No, it’s just – ” She bites her lip and watches the way his eyes dart down to her mouth.

She smiles, and before she can change her mind, she fists her hand into his shirt and pulls him down to her, slanting her lips over his. He reacts immediately, his hands going to her hips and holding her to him, which is a good thing, because while she’s just discovered that she can stand, standing while her head spins and all she can focus on is the taste of Bellamy in her mouth and the scent of him all around her is a whole other challenge, one that she might not be ready to face just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**
> 
> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)


	5. Part 5 - Bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarke and Bellamy can't keep their hands off each other because they're so in love and it's adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! The final chapter!  
>  **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**  
>  

**173 Weeks Post-Accident/172 Weeks Post-Op**

 

Bellamy rolls onto his back to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock that is ringing way too loudly much too close to his head for such an early time. Clarke makes a noise of protest as she turns onto her side and cuddles against him for warmth. His arm just wraps around her on instinct after years of practiced ease, and she hums happily, pressing a sleepy kiss to the side of his chest.

“Don’t go,” she mumbles tiredly.

“We don’t all get to be big fancy artists with paintings in galleries, Princess. Some of us still have to work on a schedule,” he teases with a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’d like to argue that my schedule is more ruthless than yours,” she says, her words less mumbled as she wakes up. “You get to go home at a certain time, but if my brain decides that it’s got a new idea, I can’t leave the studio until I at least get it started.”

“Your boss isn’t a hardass,” he counters.

She laughs, and the sound still makes his heart soar after more than three years. “Your boss is Markus Kane, so neither is yours.”

He laces the fingers of his left hand through her left, playing with the ring on her fourth finger, smiling at the way the rock shines when light hits it.

“My job bought you this,” he says for the sake of not being the one to end their bickering.

“I would have married you even if you’d proposed with a dandelion stem tied in a loop,” she says, moving to prop herself up on his chest so that she can look down at him.

He smiles up at the woman he loves, watches as she bites her lip before leaning down to kiss him like she did that very first time when she’d just been learning to walk again, almost as if the thought of touching her lips to his still makes her giddy and just a slight bit nervous. His hand slides into her hair to anchor her against him as he seeks new ways to make her melt into him, to make her gasp and forget how to breathe. He succeeds every time, and he’s thrilled at the thought that Clarke is still as amazed with him as he is with her. She tastes incredible, stale morning breath and all, and he would do anything to never have to leave this bed to go to work.

When his alarm sounds again, he’s managed to roll them over so that Clarke is on her back; he pins her hands above her head and smirks at the way her chest rises and falls heavily, catching her breath. She struggles to fight free, but he only laughs, taking both her wrists into one strong hand, and shutting off the alarm clock with the other. When she realizes that she can’t break her arms free, she stretches up to instead press kisses to his shoulder, her teeth skimming over his collarbone in a way that makes him hiss.

“I’m gonna be late if you don’t stop that,” he says through his teeth, fighting against the urge to groan in order to keep his works intelligible.

“Make me stop,” she whispers, her breath feather-light against his skin.

“You’re gonna kill me, woman,” he groans before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose and rolling to sit and stretch on the edge of the bed.

He feels her crawl up behind him and sit down on her knees before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “You’d like every second of it, though,” she says, nipping at his earlobe.

Fuck, he loves her.

“C’mon babe,” he tries again, but Bellamy knows that he’ll never complain too hard about giving his girl what she wants. “I have to go shower or else I’ll be late for work.”

“Good thing we’re great multi-taskers, then,” she says with a kiss to his shoulder blade that promises more.

“I guess it is a good thing,” he says, quickly looping his arms around her legs and carrying her to the bathroom across the hall on his back.

They’re both laughing when he puts her down in the bathroom, but the sound quickly dies off when Bellamy notices the way his wife is looking at him. He crowds her back against the wall and takes her face between his hands.

“I love you, Clarke,” he says, and he means it with every ounce of his being.

He doesn’t give her a chance to say the words he’s already heard her say a million times before letting his mouth travel down the side of her neck and over her collarbone. She reaches out and turns on the water, the bathroom quickly filling up with steam and something else as Bellamy has her chanting his name like a hymn before they’re even under the shower’s spray.

Clarke’s face is still flushed, her eyes still glazed over from the pleasure when she stands in the kitchen to kiss him goodbye as he finishes pouring his coffee into his travel mug. He brushes a still-damp strand of hair behind her ear, and she leans into his touch. They’ve been married for almost two years, and it still feels like the first time she kissed him. That was in her kitchen. Now, they stand in their kitchen.

He wraps his arm around her waist. “What are your plans for today?”

“I have to finishes those sketches for my proposal for Cage. It’s the stupidest thing. He’s seen my artwork, and he’s the one who asked me to do his commissions, so I don’t see why I have to come up with a proposal for it. I don’t know why he’s all worried that I’m suddenly going to start painting a bunch of dudes with their dicks out.” Clarke grumbles.

Bellamy barks out a laugh. “You know, Michelangelo did that in the Sistine Chapel, and we all still talk about him and how great his art work was.”

She laughs so hard tears pool at the corner of her eyes. “Are you telling me that my proposal for this seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar contract that will basically have us set for … at least a few years in this economy… should be _How about you let me make you a bunch of dudes with their dicks out to hang in your three new hotels_?”

“Well, it is Cage Wallace, so maybe the sure fire way to seal the deal is to offer to paint life-sized portraits of him instead. Whether or not he has his dick out is up to you.”

She laughs again, and he knows he’ll never get used to the happy sound. “You’re impossible,” she says, swatting at his shoulder.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” Bellamy answers with the smirk he knows she has a thing for.

“I do love you,” she says, reaching up to kiss him quickly. “Now go to work. Be safe. I want you in one piece – with no bullet holes – when you get back. I have dicks to go paint.”

“I love you, too,” he says, tightening his grip on her waist. “But say I do get shot at work today, is that really the last kiss you want to give me?”

She assures him that it’s not before wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him down to her in a kiss that makes him want to drag her back to bed.

 

**210 Weeks Post-Accident/209 Weeks Post-Op**

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bellamy asked as he watched Clarke fan her face with a flyer they’d just gotten in the mail. The summer heat was getting to her. “I can call in sick and stay home. Kane will understand.”

“I know that Kane will understand, but I’ll be fine, Bell. I have things to do today, and I’m picking Raven, Wells and the kids up at the airport, so they’ll be here to hover over me, and you can all fret about how poor Clarke is doing once you’re home after your shift. _Go_ ,” she urges. “I know how much you want that detective promotion. Every good day counts.” She’s right, but his expression must betray his uneasiness to trust her assurances. “Bellamy Blake. I am a grown woman, and I am capable of taking care of myself. Go. To. Work. Besides, if I remember correctly, it was me trying to get you to stay home from work that got us into this mess.”

She punctuates the last statement with a smirk that has him lunging across the table, palms flat on its surface to kiss it slowly and sweetly right off her face. She stands gingerly to meet him halfway and slide her hands over his shoulders.

“I love you,” she says against his mouth. “Now go to work.”

She walks him to the front door, and he turns to face her before leaving. “I love you. Be home at five,” he promises.

He kisses her forehead and turns to leave, but nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels her small hand pinches his ass. She laughs loudly at her sneakiness, but the sound dies the instant he sends her a wicked grin over his shoulder and walks away without another word.

His workday is long, and by half-past ten, the heat in unbearable. Miller has the A/C in their patrol car cranked up to its highest setting, but even that’s not enough to beat the scorching weather that has been plaguing Arkadia for nearly a week now. Drivers are getting antsy and less patient in traffic, older residents are having trouble staying hydrated, and there’s always some drunk idiot making a scene at the beach, so the radio is constantly buzzing with chatter, and if they’re not at a car accident call, they’re the first responders on scene for whatever heatstroke case pops up.

They stop for lunch in the first place they find that has air conditioning, and Miller talks about his upcoming wedding with Monty in September, running Bellamy through all the things he’ll have to do before then, like he does every day. Bellamy, for his part, can’t focus as he tries to text Clarke.

 **[Bellamy Blake]       12:16 PM**  
How are you feeling?

 **[Bellamy Blake]       12:18 PM**  
Come on, Clarke  
I’ve been carting off sick people all day  
Can you at least just let me know that you’re not passed out somewhere?

 **[Bellamy Blake]       12:22 PM**  
Clarke Blake, answer your phone before I have a heart attack

 **[Wifey <3]                  12:25 PM**  
I was driving!

I’m sorry!

I’m fine, I promise xox

Just waiting for Rae’s plane to land

You worry too much

**[Bellamy Blake]       12:25 PM**

I love you too much

**[Wifey <3]                 12:26 PM**

Not possible

**[Bellamy Blake]       12:26 PM**

You’re right

 **[Wifey <3]                  12:28 PM**  
Flight lands in two minutes!

Go save the world, officer Blake

Come home to me <3

**[Bellamy Blake]       12:28 PM**

I always do <3

**[Wifey <3]                 12:29 PM**

Love you! xxx

**[Bellamy Blake]       12:30 PM**

Love you more!

* * *

 

It’s another three hours of mindless calls in the afternoon, and Bellamy’s vest feels too tight and is rubbing him in all the wrong places. He’s sweat off at least five pounds on this shift alone. Miller is asking him a question about the meeting they had on Wednesday morning when a call comes through the radio that makes his heart stop.

“Ambo 28, person down; unknown causes,” the dispatcher says. “328 Tondc Avenue.”

He doesn’t even have time to say anything about the fact that it’s his address that they just called before Miller has the lights and sirens on, and he’s pulling a U-turn to take them across town. Bellamy swears.

“She’s gonna be fine, man,” Miller promises.

“You don’t know that,” Bellamy says.

“Blake, you legitimately met your wife because she got hit by a car. She’s strong enough to handle this.”

“Just shut up and drive faster, Miller.”

His phone rings and vibrates against his thigh. He pulls it out without even checking the display. “Blake,” he barks into the phone.

“Well hello to you, too,” Raven says. She’s about to add more when he can hear Clarke scream in pain, distant through the phone.

Bellamy swears again. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“Looks like we got here just in time,” Raven says.

“Why’d you call an ambulance? What’s wrong?”

“Well, this might be happening faster than planned, so we thought we’d beat the afternoon traffic.”

“Jesus Christ, Raven.”

“Just meet us at the hospital, Blake. Ambulance’s here.”

“Put Clarke on the phone?”

“She’s pretty pissed at you right now –”

“Tell Bellamy that he’s an asshole, and I hate him!” Clarke’s distant voice shouts.

“Yeah,” Raven drawls. “She’ll be fine, Blake. I’ll make sure she’s okay until you get here.”

“I might actually beat you there,” Bellamy says.

“Great. We’re on our way now. Wells is just calling your sister and Lincoln, and he’ll follow us in Clarke’s car with her things.”

Clarke shouts something intelligible in the background again, and he chuckles. She never changes.

 

**210 Weeks Post-Accident/209 Weeks Post-Op/1 Hour Post Baby Blake**

            “She’s perfect,” Bellamy says in wonder looking down at the tiny little life Clarke holds in her arms. She already has wisps of blonde curls and tiny, nearly invisible freckles over her nose. Her pale cheeks are flush.

“You said that already,” his wife says quietly, her eyes look on the newborn.

“You’re perfect,” he says, brushing away the flyaway hairs that are still plastered to her forehead with sweat.

She tilts her head up to look at him. “We have a baby,” she says, and the glow in her eyes coupled with the smile on her face light up the entire maternity ward.

Bellamy leans down to press a kiss to the infant’s soft forehead. “And she’s beautiful.” He thought he couldn’t love someone more than he loves Clarke, but looking at this tiny little thing, he realizes that he does. And it’s not that he loves Clarke less now, but like his heart has expanded to hold all the love he carries for this precious human being.

“What are we going to name her?” Clarke asks.

“You pick. You did all the work. All I did was get awesome sex and then hear you complain for eight and a half months.” He laughs, and Clarke glares at him.

“Don’t wake her up. And don’t you think I wouldn’t smack you if I wasn’t holding my daughter,” Clarke says, but her words hold no malice as she smiles down at her baby.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around his little family. “But I want you to pick. I’ll love her no matter what. As long as her name isn’t something weird like Clarke,” he teases because he’s so giddy he can’t help himself.

“I hate you, Bellamy Blake,” she says.

“No, you don’t,” he says with a smile.

“No, I don’t.”

He kisses her and tries to convey the intense amount of love he has for this woman who tumbled into his life completely by accident and left him so much happier than he’d ever imagined he could be.

“Can you go get Wells and Octavia?” Clarke asks.

“Sure,” he says, and he ducks out into the waiting room to call their two friends in.

When the three of them are surrounding Clarke and the baby, Clarke reaches out to take Bellamy’s hand.

“I wanted the two of you to be here when we named your goddaughter,” Clarke says, and Bellamy squeezes her hand in happiness as he watches his little sister’s face light up.

“Clarke,” Octavia breathes.

“What’s her name?” Wells asks, equally fond.

“Say hello to Aurora Athena Blake,” Clarke says. “Rory.”

Bellamy’s heart does this sort of flutter where he thinks it’ll wind up in his throat, because of course Clarke would pick those names. He can’t stop himself from kissing her before Octavia comes over, tears rolling down her face. He watches as his sister hugs Clarke and the baby, and then Wells does the same.

“Do you want to hold her?” Clarke offers Octavia.

Octavia smiles and holds her arms out to take the baby. “Look at my little niece,” Octavia coos. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

“Look at how beautiful our daughter is,” Bellamy says to Clarke.

“I love you so much,” Clarke says to him.

“I love you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'M COLLECTING LETTERS & FAN ART FOR BOB & ELIZA TO GIVE TO BOB AT FAN EXPO. SUBMISSION DEADLINE IS AUGUST 16, 2017. SUBMISSION GUIDELINES CAN BE FOUND [HERE](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/bobbook).**
> 
> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I do **actual** writing in my spare time! Come find me at [@pascale_writes](https://twitter.com/pascale_writes) or let's hang out on [Tumblr](http://youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com/)


End file.
